


The Chemistry Never Lies

by mother_finch



Series: It's All in the Chemistry Series [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: heeey, how goes it mother-finch? i know you haven't really expanded on your prompts before, but any chance you could continue that one where root x shaw are teachers? it's one of my favorites from you; i think it's because they're so normal it's intriguing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chemistry Never Lies

The photograph was a match in a California forest. Within minutes, the flames spread to the surrounding trees, and by the end of the day, the entire landscape was engulfed in fire- nothing could stop its desire to devour all. So, it's no surprise that first thing the next morning, both Root and Shaw were called down to the principal's office.

"What are we, _fourteen?_ " Shaw grumbles, pacing back and forth along the span of the office conference room. "I have a class to prepare for, I don't have _time_ for this." Root watches her, eyes following Shaw's sharp movements with a doting fondness filling them.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if not for _you_ ," Root coos jokingly, winning a hot glare from Shaw. The fact that it's true only makes Shaw simmer more. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Shaw had been caught by a student- more specifically her camera phone. Shaw'd seen the picture after confiscating a student's cell for texting in class. Root pressed against the whiteboard, hands at Shaw's elbows as Shaw held Root's shoulders to the wall. Shaw's mouth on hers. In the middle of a school day. _The kid was fast_ , Shaw mutters to herself angrily. She was out the door and out of sight before Shaw had time to make it to the edge of Root's countertop desk, and within moments the chatter rose from every inch of the building like the hum of busy bees, until the entire hive shook with the news.

Miss Groves and Miss Shaw were very official. And they were very official all over the whiteboard.

* * *

 

"I'm giving her _five_ more minutes," Shaw concludes, a flare of resolve gripping her tone as she stares at the clock on the wall. Was she afraid to lose her job? Not really, Shaw's certain a replacement for her expertise is a hard commodity to come by. Root, already the second teacher of her class this year, could be a different story.

Pushing off the wall, Root meanders closer, dragging her black fingernails along the conference table, smirk present on her charming features. Shaw peers over at her mid-pace, then pauses. Turning to face Root, Shaw folds her arms, waiting with little enthusiasm for whatever sarcastic gem sits at the tip of Root's tongue.

"You need to _relax_ a little, Sweetie," Root tells her, placing her hands on Shaw's shoulders. With anyone else, Shaw would have smacked them away at once, maybe adding a vicious hiss for good measure, but with Root she doesn't even resist.

"What is it with you and these pet names?" Shaw asks, irritation in her voice not so much directed at Root, but at the tardy principal.

"I like to test my limits," Root replies with a devilish flare in her gaze. Shaw rolls her eyes.

"You're walking a very fine line," Shaw deadpans, yet cannot ignore the hop of her heart at Root's quaint smile. No matter how stiff Shaw could seem to those around her, Root has a very special way of bringing her to life. Root's hands slip past Shaw's shoulders, wrapping tenderly around her neck as she brings their noses less than a centimeter apart. Shaw can feel her heart pounding, can feel the breath being syphoned from her lungs; can feel the searing urge to close the space between them entirely. The door handle turns, and Shaw quickly pulls away, spinning to face the door just as it opens.

Elaine McCarthy strolls through, brown hair in a tight bun and pant suit crisp. Her eyes are cold and authoritative, lips constantly pursed with depreciating thoughts for the staff wedged under her rein. With a strong voice that always gets what it wants, and a bull headed stubbornness that has no off switch, it's no wonder McCarthy had earned the nickname 'Control' amongst the staff. Her stern countenance alone is enough to chill almost any teacher to submission- Shaw being the only exception.

"Whatever it is, can we talk about it fast?" Shaw asks before Control's had time to even close the door. Control makes no notion of speeding anything along; rather, she appears to lessen her pace. The door clicks loudly from behind, and Control pulls out a chair to sit. Shaw stands, waiting, eyes scalding on Control's skin, although the tight lipped smile she gives Shaw in return reveals no show of feeling Shaw's wrath.

"Wouldn't you like to sit?" Control asks, although it is most definitely a command with a question mark tacked onto the end. Root and Shaw pull out seats next to each other before settling in. Shaw immediately sets to tapping her fingers on the cheap wooden tabletop, making it apparent to Control that she has better ways to spend her time.

The clock ticks on, and Control lets time slip by with slow, agonizing seconds. Then, just when Shaw is ready to burst, Control clears her throat.

"Do you know why I've requested your attendance?" Control asks politely, peering at the two with inviting eyes. Shaw doesn't take the bait.

"No," she replies flatly. "But whatever it is could have waited until lunch." Control narrows her eyes, the faux outer layers beginning to shed.

"Lunch is _my_ time," Control tells her, voice low. "I _enjoy_ my time. So instead, I'm going to take _your_ time. Understood?" Shaw says nothing, but her eyes scream murder. Waiting a moment to relish the victorious silence, Control grins and leans back into her chair, stuffing her hand into her blazer pocket and producing a cell phone.

"Getting the hint?" Control asks, waiting with patient, sinister eyes. Shaw peers at her nails without an ounce of concern.

"I'm getting the hint that we could've been emailed about it to save time," Shaw responds, and Control finally reaches her limit.

"Do you even know how to _check_ your e-mail, Miss Shaw?" Control asks crossly, leaning into the table with malice in her eyes. "The last I remember, you were not very technologically _savvy_." Shaw can feel the heat of Root's smile on the back of her neck, but doesn't dare turn around. Control's eyes flicker between the two, resting on Root before narrowing into disapproving slits. "Or maybe _you've_ been helping her along," Control intones in a dangerously low voice. "The two of you seem to spend an _awful_ lot of time together."

"There's nothing wrong with two co-workers enjoying each others' company," Root replies with a soft but firm tone; a tone that takes both Shaw and Control off guard. It appears Shaw's not the only one immune to Control's hazardous ways. Blinking, Control snaps back to attention, anger growing and steaming against her skin.

"It is when it's being _enjoyed_ on _campus grounds,_ " Control seethes, teeth clenching as she reveals the photograph. From the corner of Shaw's eye, she can see Root's face glowing, not at all shy over the little piece of evidence. "Superintendent Thornhill has made it fairly clear that this is not appropriate behavior." _Thornhill_ , Shaw groans internally, tuning out Control's rampage for the moment. Their all seeing, all knowing employer who conveniently never stepped foot in the building. Hiring without a face-to-face interview; firing without a personal confrontation- the man is a ghost with a hand in everything. Shaw's not sure what she wants more, to finally meet him, or to steer clear of him all together. "- It's in your guidelines as teachers, and it's common curtesy. Not that I think you _possess_ that, Shaw," Control adds coldly, and Shaw gives her a chilling smirk.

"You're learning," Shaw replies, and Control lets out a sigh.

"Whatever you wanna do, I don't care," she tells them blatantly. "Just do it in private because _next_ time-" she gives pause to feed her melodramatic fancy- "there will be _no_ more chances."

_________\ If Your Number's Up /_________

"What is _so_ important," Shaw fumes, barely a foot through Root's classroom door, "that you made me call a cover into my room so I could come here." She stops at the doorway, irritation evident as she folds her arms over her chest, eyes like stone. Root, peering up from her computer screen, gives Shaw a doting grin, standing and slowly wandering forward.

"I wanted to talk," Root responds simply.

" _About?_ " Shaw nearly demands, teeth starting to grind.

"This morning."

Shaw lets out a sigh, having more than half a mind to storm out of the room and back to her awaiting anatomy class. "That sounds like a lunch discussion," Shaw spits, dropping her arms and reaching for the door. Root makes a speedy advance, hand encircling Shaw's just as her fingertips graze the door. Shaw freezes, and Root places the hand back at Shaw's side with the delicacy of a pressure sensor bomb. Shaw waits, tongue poking at her cheek, and Root leans against her wall long whiteboard, face slightly more serious.

"I have a department meeting during lunch, and this is my only prep period of the day," she explains, and Shaw's initial agitation begins to dissipate.

"What's on your mind?" Shaw sighs out at last, and Root's eyes light with pleasure, seeing Shaw's decision to stay. Shaw, after peeking through the door's narrow window, steps from its line of sight, hopping onto the countertop at the front of Root's classroom and leaning her elbows atop her legs.

"Are we... We're okay?" Root asks her, coming before Shaw. She places a hand at either side of Shaw on the table, leaning her weight in. Shaw barely notices Root's proximity, her mind reeling and too far gone. _Are we okay?_ She rolls the question about her head. Shaw's still unsure what _they_ are, let alone whatever it is being okay. _Would I want us to be something?_ She asks herself. _Would Root? What sort of something?_

Suddenly, the intensity of Root's stare finally penetrates Shaw's mental fog, and she realizes how long they've spent in silence. Clearing her throat quietly, Shaw peers at her, nearly losing herself in Root's large, expectant eyes. She watches Root press her lips together, then bunch them to the side before repeating to the left. _Nervous. Waiting. Waiting for me._

"We're okay," Shaw tells her at last, a deep set assurance in her tone. Root's face immediately floods with relief, eyes softening and content smile parting her lips. Seeing her, seeing her proximity and her eyes and her smile, Shaw finds an overwhelming urge surging within her, telling her to just lean forward. For reasons unbeknownst to her, she can suddenly think of nothing but how wonderful it would feel to have Root's smile against her mouth, and to have Root's warmth under her tongue like tasting sunshine.

 _Control,_ her mind flashes like a vibrant red warning sign. _Control_. Shaw wants to close her eyes against it, to just forget what was said and the threat that was made. Root makes it so tempting to ignore it all.

Behind them, the door handle begins to turn, and Shaw is instantly ripped from her musings, eyes snapping to the metal handle as it glides down.

_Click._

Shaw's eyes dart back to Root, gaze resting intently on hers as she waits for Root to move. Root doesn't. In fact, she remains as close as possible, giving Shaw's heart the lightest of sputters. Seconds tick by; the door begins to open. Still, Root remains. She stays fixed before Shaw until being caught seems not only evident, but inevitable.

Then, in a blink, Root is gone, and Shaw numbly turns her head in search of her. She finds Root bent beneath the countertop, rummaging through one of the lowest cabinets. The door closes, and Shaw glances up to see Barney Wicker just beyond the doorway. Shaw's eyes narrow as she watches his gaze follow Root, head tilted as if he angled it just right, he would be able to see past Root's navy blue skirt.

"Wicker," Shaw greets with a hint of danger lacing her tone, and he has to force his eyes from Root.

"Uh, mornin' Miss Shaw," he responds awkwardly, tipping his head towards her with a slight heat showing atop his balding head. With his slightly pudgy form, crisp pants and white dress shirt, Shaw tacks off a mental list of him: _Computer Science teacher; head of the computer department; coach of the boy's soccer team; divorced with one daughter in her early twenties. Apparently harmless,_ Shaw decides, although an air of distaste she'd never quite felt for him previously rises like bile in the back of her throat. _Maybe I hadn't paid enough attention to him before_ , she wonders with a cold disposition. _That won't be the case any more._

"Here it is," Root says in a chipper tone, handing a disk to Shaw. Shaw, raising a brow Root's way, takes it from her grasp. "Oh, Barney, hi," Root calls to him with a kind smile. "I was just grabbing an interactive circulatory system software for her class to test out"- turning back to Shaw- "I knew I had it in here somewhere."

"Thanks," Shaw responds without feeling. She slips from the counter slowly, knowing if she doesn't leave it will raise suspicion. Nonetheless, with Wicker in the room, Shaw has the intense persistence to stay.

"Guess you should be headin' back to that class o' yours," Wicker prompts, as if reading her mind. _To Hell with the class_ , she wants to spit at him. Instead, face entirely neutral, she nods.

"Can I help you with anything?" Root asks him as Shaw shuffles past, pace verging sluggish.

"I have the presentation for the meetin' all set up, an' didn't know if you'd mind goin' over it with me real quick."

"Of course," she tells him politely, walking quickly back to her computer to awaken it. At the door, Shaw stops, fingers kissing the handle.

"Root?" Shaw calls, and Root's chocolate gaze lands affectionately on hers. "Coffee tomorrow; the usual place?" She watches Root's smile grow grandly, fighting it off at first but losing as her teeth show brightly and her eyes glow.

"I'll be there," she responds, and Shaw nods before escaping the room. Crossing the hall, she steps back into her classroom. The students around her chat amongst themselves, the temp smacking at the keyboard without an inkling of how it works. Usually, Shaw would be a snarling wolf, relishing the smell of fear from her students like a beast enjoys the metallic tang of blood. Instead, she quietly relieves the fill in from their station- no iron clad stare included- and tosses the disk into her player. Sure enough, a fully malleable circulatory system is projected onto the whiteboard, and Shaw spends the rest of the period half heartedly questioning the students. They all watch her uneasily, unsure of her latest mood. There is no pop quiz, no drilling of questions, no public shaming for not knowing an answer. Just a few pages of homework and an eerily silent five minutes of rec time at the end of class. Another first. _Since when have I ever not worked them to the bell?_ Shaw wonders, although the voice in her head is small and distant. She's too preoccupied with thoughts of Control, Root, and Wicker to focus on much else.

The bell for lunch rings, and as silent as death, the class files from the room, leaving Sameen Shaw to twirl a pen between her fingers, consumed by her very own mind.

______\ We'll Find You /______

"With our current budget, it's either new keyboards for the entire department, or it's funding fo' one classroom alone. Now, that's either gonna be computer art or economics. Sleep on it, ya here? We'll meet again next week to make a final deliberation. New keyboards. Art. Economics. Okay, all's dismissed."

With the last of Barney Wicker's slow drawl and the final powerpoint slide clicking to darkness, the computer department grumbles as they come to their feet. Mutterings of _'but my class needs this knew software'_ and _'keyboards? I have six computers down from eaten through wires, and their compromise is keyboards?'_ flutter through the room like despairing butterflies. Slowly, the group shuffles out of Wicker's room in one solid cluster. Root, blessed with a fairly well maintained and rodent free space, acknowledges with relief how little her class costs the department. No complaints breathing down her neck; anything she needs she can easily acquire on her own.

"Miss Groves?" Wicker's voice beckons to her from across the way. She stops at the center of the throng, excusing herself from a conversation with the CAD instructor to loop back around into the room. She peers at him from the far side of the class, waiting for him to rattle off a quick request or perhaps ask her opinion on a minute trouble. "Close the door, please. I have a private matter to discuss."

She complies, kicking the wooden stop from under the door and allowing it to glide shut. She walks up one of the aisle ways, stopping half way to lean against a desk. Arms folded. Air subtly impatient.

"How've these months been treating you, Groves?" Wicker asks, eyes scanning his whiteboard a moment, back to her.

"Things have been fairly well, Wicker," Root responds, and he nods. He turns to her, his blue eyes are blunt on hers, and her skin has the sense to crawl. She forces it down.

"Call me Wick," he tells her with a smile, and she gives him a tight one in return. "You ever fired a gun, Miss Groves?" He asks, slowly walking forward. He reminds her of a snake, eyes large and predatory on hers, tongue poking out every so often to lick his lips, head bobbing to and fro in a hypnotic rhythm.

Root shakes her head no.

He chuckles, an air of false disbelief encircling him. "You ever want, I can teach ya," he tells her earnestly. "Damn shame if a woman as yourself can't shoot a gun. Gotta be able to defend yourself," he says, coming ever closer. Root holds her ground, fingers curling under the desk and knuckles turning white. Teeth clenched and jaw set. Eyes cold behind a false glimmer of conversation. "I could let you try out a Remington 870 Shotgun. A fight between a computer and one o' those; I'll tell you which would win." As if to give her a hint to the answer, he makes the gesture of pumping a shotgun with one hand- perhaps a little to low for Root's comfort.

Wicker comes within a foot's distance to her when she stands, nerves jumping and spine tingling like it's been plagued with pins and needles. "Whadaya say?" He asks, taking another half step forward. Root matches it with a half step back. The door has never felt farther away.

"I don't think I could make the time," Root tells him slowly, not bothering to make her countenance apologetic. She merely shrugs her shoulders, then begins to turn and head for the exit.

"Don't be coy," he reprimands humorously, large hand engulfing her wrist as he spins her back to him. Root's balance falters, and before she has time to correct herself, Wicker's already pulled her in, chests touching as his hand slips from her wrist to her waist and down. His eyes grow darker, smile morphing with the hint of a sneer as his voice hardens. "I don't _like_ coy."

His hand stops at her rear and her back arches with contempt, face turning from the sticky heat of his breath, stomach sick with disgust. He continues to coax her ever closer, and she holds her breath with teeth bared, skin crawling like a thousand worms are thrashing below her flesh. Flicking her eyes to his face, she steels her gut and turns her face back to him with a slowness near agonizing. Her eyes are black, body beginning to quiver with rage.

"Coy's not _my_ thing either," Root all but spits in a dangerously low tone that sends a moment's fear flashing across Wicker's eyes. Yet, it passes without thought, and their oily pleasure returns. Root pushes herself away from him, but it's in vain for his grip on her is all too tight. She turns her face away from him once more, this time eyes on the door. It seems galaxies away.

Until a figure Root can't quite place at this angle blocks the window momentarily, the handle slamming down and door thrown open. In the quickness of the moment, Wicker peers to it, guard falling. Not wasting her chance, Root pries his hand off, snapping it forcefully back into his chest before taking a few steps away. Lungs burning. She hadn't been breathing at all.

"Hey, Root," Shaw says calmly, although her eyes look past Root entirely, the burning intensity of her gaze resting solely on Wicker. "Everything okay?" Root continues to distance herself from Wicker, smoothing her hair back with one hand and straightening her skirt with the other. She can feel the flush in her face and the spasmodic hammer of her heart, and wonders if- even from across the room- Shaw can hear it.

"Fine," Root replies choppily, voice strained. "I was just leaving." She coughs. "What are you doing here, Sam?" Shaw's eyes remain on Wicker, daring him to speak, to move, to breathe.

"Wanted to return this," she answers listlessly, lifting the disk between her fingers. "You weren't in your room, and the rest of your little geek group said they'd last seen you here. Thought I'd check." A soft smile tugs onto Root's face, eyes resting lovingly on Shaw. Even without Shaw's gaze on her, Root can see just how terrifying she looks. The room drops twenty degrees with the ice in her stance, yet Root couldn't have been more warmed by it.

"Couldn't you've waited to give it back _later?_ " Wicker asks somewhat crossly.

"I _could've_ ," Shaw agrees. Wicker scowls, then looks away. Shaw, gaze coming to Root for the first time, trades her bristling stance for one more welcoming. "There's ten minutes left to the end of lunch," Shaw tells her. "Want to start heading back to our wing?"

Root nods, nerves settling back into place as she takes a slow breath. Without glancing back to Wicker, Root maneuvers quickly around the desks, greeting Shaw with a smile. Shaw doesn't return it. Instead, she closes her eyes, head giving the slightest of shakes as she turns for the door. Together they escape, however Root is not free with the click of Wicker's door closing behind them.

"What the _Hell_ happened in there," Shaw demands in a low growl as soon as the door shuts. Root, taken aback by Shaw's dark tone and brooding eyes, fumbles.

"He- it wasn't- nothing actually hap-" Root takes a breath, searching for the right words. "He just got too close. Really close." She watches a spark of anger flash in Shaw's eyes, and wonders what bomb she's just set to detonate.

"You should report that," Shaw tells her seriously, casting her dangerous glare back to the door. Root ponders it a moment, but ultimately shakes her head.

"No, I'm already on Control's shit list, I don't need to find myself back in her little corner of Hell."

"Root." The push behind Shaw's voice is enough to make Root stop, and together they stand in the hall, a few straggling students wearily slinking by, hugging the lockers with the silent fear of detentions screaming in their eyes. They know Shaw is a master at dishing them out, but she's far too preoccupied to notice their presences. Shaw's eyes are serious yet soft on Root's, something battling within them in the silence that follows. Then, just as Root is about to break the quiet, Shaw continues. "Either you take care of this, or _I'll_ take care of this." From the mischief in Shaw's tone, Root is all but certain Shaw's version of 'taking care' of things has little to do with paperwork. The image of Shaw being escorted out with a suspension order tacked to her file sends a chill down Root's spine.

"Alright, fine, consider it done," Root comments listlessly with a shake of her head. They start down the hallway once more, steps slow and thoughts silent.

"Tell me what happened," Shaw says, voice gentle as it shatters the quiet veil hanging over them. Root feels the deflective words on the tip of her tongue, yet with one look at Shaw, she sighs. The anger in Shaw's face is gone, replaced by a barely concealed aura of concern. Blinking slowly and gathering all the right words, Root begins.

______\ The Chemistry Doesn't Lie /_______

Shaw sits with her fingernails clicking against a grated café table, red umbrella splashing a gentle pink across her face as the sunlight filters through. A slight Saturday breeze tugs at her hair as it ruffles the napkins sitting on the table before her. The traffic is light along the small town street, and a few clusters of people wander down the sidewalks. Shaw searches their faces briefly, eyes scanning for one brunette in particular.

Suddenly, hands glide against Shaw's shoulders, fingers lacing together at Shaw's collar as their owner leans in devastatingly close. "Hi, Honey," her voice coos softly, lips brushing against Shaw's ear. Shaw feels a slight sputter in her heart, eyes flicking to her left. She can feel Root's breath hot against the side of her neck, and finds keeping her composure harder than she'd like to admit.

"You _know_ ," Shaw says in a low, even voice, light smirk beginning to curl at the edges of her mouth, "I'm waiting for my girlfriend, and I don't know how she'll feel when she sees this."

" _Mhmm_ ," Root laughs quietly against her. "Girlfriend, huh? Finally found a suiting title for me?" She gives Shaw a quick kiss on the cheek before coming to sit next to her in a chair, all the while Shaw can feel the heat rising to her ears.

"Yeah," Shaw responds casually, leaning back in her chair and peering at Root. "Because 'Teacher across the Hall' and 'Pain in my _Ass_ ' just didn't have quite the ring I was looking for."

Root narrows her eyes at Shaw playfully, settling into her chair and grabbing a few papers and a laptop from her satchel. Shaw does the same, and after ordering a cup of coffee each, they begin their routine of talking and grading papers.

Root types swiftly, eyes scanning the screen as she scrolls, then she repeats the process. Shaw drags her eyes down column after column of open ended questions, distaste in her eyes at the wrong answers and a small swell of pride in her chest at the ones she marks correct. _They're getting better._

Suddenly, Root bubbles up with laughter, and Shaw turns to her, eyes expectant. Shaking her head free of the humor, Root turns the screen to Shaw. Shaw scans the project, eyes stopping at the last few lines.

**_After completing this individual assignment, are there any questions that you still have?_ **

_\- Was that photo of you and Miss S. legit?_

Shaw's eyes widen slightly, heat draining from her face as she looks back to Root.

"How many of those are there?" Shaw asks, spinning the computer back to Root. Root shrugs.

"I guess we'll find out," she responds, not in the slightest phased.

"Do you remember how I told you before that my students were getting a little ahead of themselves?" Shaw asks her, and Root nods. "Well, they're a complete _nightmare_ now." Root raises a brow, interest piquing in her eyes.

"How so?"

"They're not..." Shaw trails off, searching for the best choice of words. "They're not _scared_ anymore. Of me."

"And that's a _bad_ thing?" Root asks with a chuckle.

"Yes," Shaw responds flatly. Root rolls her eyes with an adoring smile.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with your students liking you, Sam."

"It's not that. I think, with them knowing how _you_ are-"

"They think you're soft," Root concludes.

"Exactly," Shaw agrees. "So they talk and they laugh and they ask questions about you without an _ounce_ of worry for the repercussions."

"What a _shame_ that people see your _nice_ side," Root cracks sarcastically.

"What _nice side?_ " Shaw shoots back with a slight smile, and Root closes her laptop. Taking a swig of her coffee and sliding her chair in, Root rests her head on Shaw's shoulder. Shaw pretends to pay no mind, merely sifts through her papers, marking wrong answers red and assigning scores. However, the rate of her grading slows, then inches, then crawls. Her mind gradually finds itself somewhere outside of anatomy tests, and her eyes spend more time on Root than the papers.

Finally, with a sigh, Shaw pushes her papers and computer back into her bag. She closes her eyes, listening to the sounds of the street and the café, letting herself relax for the first time in three days. She feels Root shift at her side, and just after, Root slides her hand into Shaw's. Shaw pauses one second, then two, before slowly curling her fingers in, wrapping them carefully over Root's. Root smiles, and together they sit under the red umbrella, coffees before them and- for the moment- no where to be.


End file.
